


In Dreams of Him

by mareyshelley



Series: Tales for October [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Demon AU, F/M, incubus au, incubus!Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20849087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareyshelley/pseuds/mareyshelley
Summary: After moving back to Storybrooke, Belle finds that only one thing about the odd little town has stayed the same, and it’s plaguing her nights with unusual dreams.Winner of Best Horror in the 2020 TEAs.Nominated for Best Creature AU in the 2020 TEAs.





	1. The Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> It’s Halloween and my birthday for the next 31 days, it’s time to get spooky. Thank you MapleSyrup for beta'ing this and being so supportive.

It wasn't exactly the move she'd hoped for. When she'd first left Storybrooke, Belle had hoped to see more of the world. Her first passion was books, and despite getting a job in a library in Boston, she'd still wanted to travel.

That hadn't happened on her librarian's salary. She hadn't left Boston until a job had come up for a new head librarian back home. It was almost like admitting defeat, moving back to Storybrooke, but her only option had been staying in Boston or going home.

In the end, she hadn’t done either, not really. There was nothing for her in Boston, no reason to stay, and returning to Storybrooke didn’t feel like going home.

Her new apartment was nice enough, but it was a little old fashioned for her taste. All of the furniture was very much the landlord’s style. She knew from hours spent in his shop the sorts of antiques he favoured, and everyone knew he lived in the big salmon Victorian on the hill. 

The whole apartment was very _ him_.

The furniture was all dark woods and deep velvet reds. It reminded her of the suits he used to always wear, in black and reds and the occasional blue. At least the blue in the apartment was in her bedroom, that was something she would have chosen for herself, but it was nothing like her bright, white apartment in Boston. There was no room for her to redecorate or move in her own furniture. If she’d had any to move in the first place.

She'd tried putting a bunch of flowers in each room to brighten things up, but they'd only lent themselves to the overly-traditional feel of the place. The rooms were still dark and stuffy, and she suspected the constant rain didn't help. It cast the apartment in a pervasive grey light every day. It dampened her mood and kept away any chance of visitors.

Jefferson had been waiting for her when she'd first arrived, to give her the keys for the library, but he'd hurried off to the diner before she'd had a chance to invite him in. That had been two days ago, and the rain still hadn’t stopped. It beat against the window as she unpacked, drowning out the lonely silence that would have surrounded her otherwise.

There wasn’t much for her to unpack -- Belle didn’t have many clothes, and there was no room for her books -- but there was a lot for her to clean.

_ Odd_, she’d thought when she first looked around, _ that a librarian wouldn’t have any space to keep her books. _

In the end, Belle settled for tucking the boxes of books away in her already cramped bedroom. It was hard work pushing and lifting heavy boxes around by herself, but she managed it just about. She slid the final box in beside her bed and stepped back to see how much floor space she had left. It wasn't much, and what she did have was covered by a worn old rug.

Belle stepped across it, wondering if she could replace it with something else, and the floorboards creaked under her heel. She stopped, frowning, and shifted her weight back to her other foot. The floorboard creaked again.

Kneeling down, Belle pulled back the old rug and ran her hand over the floor. Nothing looked out of place. The wooden floor was just as dark as the rest of the wood in the apartment, but one of the planks was slightly raised at one end and made the floor uneven. 

Smiling at her new discovery, she pulled up the loose board.

It came away easily, and she hurriedly set it aside when she saw what was underneath. A box had been hidden under the floor, with a book propped up against it and a layer of dust covering both.

Belle lifted the book first and blew on the dusty cover. She suspected it had once been green, before months in the floor had turned it grey with dust and yellowed the pages.

She felt wrong opening someone else’s notebook, but curiosity had always been her biggest flaw.

Glancing around her room, as if she expected to find the librarian’s ghost peering over her shoulder, Belle turned the cover. The first few pages were stuck together, and she had to carefully pry them apart to read them. Then she could see why they were sticking. The pages she flicked through were full of newspaper clippings. The very first headline, neatly cut out and glued alone on the first page, stood out in large, bold letters:

_ CHANGE OF HEART; LIBRARY TO REOPEN. _

It was dated October 8th, nearly two years ago, and a quick scan of the article told her exactly what the reporter thought of Mr. Gold’s old plans for the empty library. There was only one picture. A short, round woman with a pleased smile -- the old librarian -- stood beside the old mayor outside the library’s main doors. The mayor was smiling, but Cora Mills’ smile had never been a pleasant one. She looked more pleased with herself than the reopening of the library.

Belle closed the book, uneasy from reading Ms. Potts’ journal, and put it aside to reach for the box.

It was heavier than it looked, a solid weight in her hands, and made of a strange dark wood she couldn’t name. She sat it in her lap and something heavy _ thunked _ inside. There was a little brass lock on the front, simple and unadorned with no sign of a key, but the lid opened easily when she lifted it. The heavy thing sliding around inside looked to be a clump of metal, wrapped in crumpled paper.

She took the metal out and put the box down. It chimed. It was a brief, cut-off note, but it was enough for Belle to put aside the metal and look back inside the box. There was a small winding key, in the same golden brass as the lock, and she smiled. She couldn’t resist turning it.

Gears inside the box, old and untouched for countless years, clicked as she wound it. When she released it, a soft and gentle tune began to tinkle from inside the box. It was a pretty sound, but she didn’t recognise what song it was supposed to be playing. It must have been old, whatever it was. The music box itself looked to be Victorian, like everything else in the apartment, but it was the only thing that hadn’t been chosen for her by her landlord.

Closing the lid and cutting off the light tune, Belle took the box into her sitting room. There was nothing of her own personality in there, but she set the box down on the coffee table and felt a little sigh of relief at breaking up the very Gold-dominated room.

A knock sounded at the door, pulling her attention away from her new toy.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. The rain hadn’t died down, it still raged outside as fierce as any storm, and she doubted anyone would brave it just to visit her. Least of all the man she found standing outside her door when she opened it.

“Mr. Gold?”

He stood just at the top of the stairs from the library, as well put together as ever with the same dark suit and polished cane. He hadn’t aged a day; there was no more grey in his hair than she remembered there being, and no more lines on his face, but that wasn’t the oddest thing about him.

He was dry.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was hoping to help you, Miss French. I would have come sooner, only...” He waved a gloved hand. “I’ve been unable to get into the library until now.”

Belle nodded slowly. “I didn’t expect anyone to come in this weather.”

“Yes,” he said, smiling indulgently. “The weather.”

“It was still silly to come here in this rain. You could have ruined your suit,” she teased, and his lips quirked up into a brief, wry smile.

She remembered teasing him, and she was surprised at how much she’d missed it. Whenever Gold had come to her father’s to collect the rent, they would bounce their wit off one another until either she or her father had counted up the money owed for that month. Her father hated the man, but Belle had felt differently. He’d always made her smile and listened to her when she’d read a particularly good book.

She smiled at him now and opened the door wider.

“Come in,” she said.

“Are you sure?” he asked. His eyes flicked over her and she couldn’t quite work out the look on his face. She hadn’t seen him apprehensive before.

She nodded, at a loss for what else to say, and he smiled as he stepped passed her.

She closed the door, but didn’t lock it, and turned to see him looking over the room. He didn’t step in any further. He didn’t make a move to sit down or talk about whatever he’d come to discuss. Belle didn’t know what to do while she waited for him to give the flat a quick once-over. Other than admire him. He fit into the flat more than she did, but that wasn’t what really drew her in.

What Belle had always liked about Mr. Gold, other than his sharp mind, was how well he dressed. He wore black, with a dark red shirt and tie. The leather of his gloves creaked as he gripped his cane, and she felt an itch to reach out and run her fingers over the back of his hand. 

“Is everything to your liking?” he asked, still not looking at her.

Belle licked her lips and nodded. “Yeah-- _ yes_. It’s a lot nicer than I was expecting.”

Gold turned to her, lifting an eyebrow. Her cheeks burned.

“I was told it was only a small flat. One bathroom, one bedroom. I wasn’t expecting so much.”

She looked away and distracted herself with the music box, picking it up to take it back into her bedroom. Something told her that she shouldn’t have let him see it.

A hand curled around her shoulder from behind. “Will you invite me into that bedroom?”

Her heart jumped. Belle turned to him and found him admiring her flowers, on the other side of the room.

She frowned and put her hand to her shoulder, where the faint pressure of his fingers had been. His touch was so warm and real, but seeing him across the room, with his attention on the bouquet, made her doubt what she’d felt. 

She gripped the music box tighter. “What did you say?”

“I hope the one bathroom and one bedroom are to your taste,” he said, carefully stroking the petals of a rose bud. “It was hard to find anyone to clean after...” He smiled. “Well. Her grandson came to collect her things, I redecorated, and the place has been empty ever since.”

Belle nodded and put the box back down. She must have misheard. It wouldn’t have been the first time her imagination got away from her, and nothing about him suggested he’d said what she thought he’d said.

She looked at the box and shook her head. “Is the furniture yours?”

“Yes, don’t worry about that. I had everything replaced.” Gold straightened his back and looked at her, his lips pressed into a firm line. “Ms. Potts left everything in a terrible mess. Nothing was where it should be.”

“It’s terrible what happened to her,” she said, gently correcting his skewed priorities.

Standing in front of him, Belle found it impossible to look anywhere else. Her eyes were drawn down to his fingers flexing over the top of his cane, and back up to an oddly knowing smile on his face.

“Is there nothing I can help with?” he asked.

Belle had to step back before she said something inappropriate.

“Not that I can think of,” she answered, wringing her hands to keep them to herself. “But thank you.”

His jaw clenched. “Well, if you’re sure, Miss French. You know where my shop is if you change your mind.”

He said goodbye and Belle saw him out.

“_Will you invite me into that bedroom_?” His voice drifted back to her, followed by a faint bumping overheard.

As well as the library and her little flat, the building had one more floor. She knew a maintenance worker -- Marco -- occasionally had to go up there to check on the town’s clock, but she couldn’t see anyone needing to work on the clock at that time of day.

But then the bumping came again, louder. It moved overheard, heading towards the far wall just underneath where the clock would be.

It was definitely footsteps.

Belle leaned out of the front door, but Mr. Gold had already left. Unless it was him up there.

Grabbing her coat, because she couldn’t imagine the clock tower was very warm, Belle headed to the narrow staircase at the end of the hall. It was hidden behind an old door, and more like a slightly sloping ladder than an actual staircase.

The footsteps sounded again, louder now that she had the door open.

“Mr. Gold?”

There was a thud, loud and dull as if something heavy had been knocked over, and then running.

“Marco?” she called, because in all the time she’d been in Storybrooke, she never once saw Mr. Gold run. He didn’t run.

She climbed to the top of the stairs, and peered into the dark.

“Miss French?”

Belle jumped and turned, nearly tripping on the top step, to find Mr. Gold standing in the doorway behind her.

“Whatever are you doing up there?” he asked, offering her his hand as she stepped down to meet him. She didn’t need his help, but she accepted his hand anyway.

_“Will you let me in?” _his voice echoed in her ear. The ghost of his hand curled around her shoulder as he gripped her hand tight. Belle shivered.

“I thought I heard something,” she explained.

“Old buildings often make strange sounds,” Gold said, releasing her hand. “We wouldn’t want you to fall chasing after ghosts.” He smiled at her and let his arm drop to his side. “In the future, try not to go exploring. I know what a curious thing you can be.”

Belle lifted her head and pressed her lips together, trying not to let her smile give her away.

“There’s nothing wrong with a curious mind,” she said, but Gold’s amusement only grew.

He stepped to the side as she closed the tower door and locked it, and Belle could feel his eyes on her the whole time. She frowned.

“Why did you come back?” she asked, turning to face him. “Did you forget something?”

Gold looked at the locked door behind her. His smile was gone.

“I heard it too,” he said, and gave her a strange look. It wasn’t a look of anger or annoyance, but there was a note of warning in his voice when he spoke again. “Don’t go upstairs, Miss French. Keep to your apartment and the library.”

Belle nodded, unsure how to respond, and that seemed to be enough for him. He gave her a nod and bid her goodnight, and he left again. She watched him as he went, leaning on his cane, until he disappeared down the stairs.

* * *

Dreams were unusual things. It wasn’t easy to tell when a dream was happening until it was over, and by then it was too late to take control of it and do things differently.

Belle didn’t often suffer from dreams -- not vivid ones, anyway -- and so she didn’t know when she was having one. This dream was different, which made it even harder to tell that it wasn’t real.

First, the music box woke her. She didn’t jolt awake like waking from an unpleasant dream. She awoke slowly after a good few hours of rest, but moonlight, pure and silver, still filled her room. She couldn’t have been asleep for very long. She looked at the clock; a wall clock with a pendulum which hadn't been there during the day. It was midnight.

Her cotton pyjamas had been replaced by a silk nightgown, a detail that didn’t seem odd to her, and the bedside lamp had become a golden candelabra. The warm glow of the candles fought against the silver shine of the moon, but the rest of the room was dark.

Belle stood, wrapping her arms around herself to fight off the cold, and went to the music box. She didn’t remember leaving it open, or falling asleep to its tune, and reached out to close it.

“Miss French?”

Belle turned, distracted at the last moment, to see Mr. Gold standing behind her with an amused smile. He stood in the golden light by her bed, the candles flickering shadows across the room, while she stood in the light of the moon.

It didn’t seem strange for him to be there. It felt right.

His hands were behind his back, his cane missing, and when he lifted a hand to her, a rose sat in its place. Even in the dim light she could see how bright and red the flower was. He held it up, offering it to her, and her pulse quickened.

“Will you have it?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to accept it, but she was certain that he wouldn’t push her if she declined. Something about him, and the way he stood several paces away from her, told Belle that he would leave if she asked him to.

Hesitantly, but a little more sure of herself now that she knew he would accept her ‘no,’ Belle reached out to take the flower from him. He smiled, showing his teeth, and curled his fingers around her hand.

Belle returned his smile and dropped the rose. It slipped from their joined hands and disappeared into the darkness of the room. But it was alright. It was alright because he was there, with his glowing eyes and sharp teeth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Mr. Gold looked behind her, to the music box still playing in the background.

“You invited me in.”

The moment changed, and she didn’t question why she was suddenly lying in bed.

She couldn't see Mr. Gold anymore, but she could feel him. He was watching her, there in the darkness.

The bed sheets moved around her feet, and a solid mass slowly crawled up the length of her body. Her heart raced. Her breath came quicker. All of it was telling her to get out of bed. She had to get away.

But then her fear turned to excitement, and he was there.

She looked down, into the darkness of the covers as the mass rose. Golden eyes peered back at her, and when they blinked, Mr. Gold lifted himself up. He leaned over her. The weight of his body, wearing black silk now instead of his suit, pinned her to the bed.

“Belle,” he crooned, running the back of his knuckles down her cheek. “Are you afraid?”

She shook her head. It didn’t scare her that his fingers were crooked like long spider’s legs, tipped with black claws. It didn’t scare her when he smiled at her answer, and showed her his sharp teeth. It didn’t scare her when he stroked his fingers over her collarbone and leaned closer.

“Will you have me?” he murmured in her ear. “Will you let me in?”

Her heart thudded fast in her ears, like the footsteps running through the clock tower. She couldn’t think of a reason to turn him away. She realised she didn’t want to, and with that realisation, Belle opened her legs.

“Yes.”


	2. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MapleSyrup for beta'ing, and everyone for the comments and kudos on the first chapter!

As a child, Belle had a recurring dream about a monster lurking in the library. That dream would always leave her with a hunger for adventure the following day. It didn’t scare her. In the dream, _ she _ was chasing after the monster. It lurked between bookcases and in the dark corners of the library’s lift, and Belle ran after it, trying to find it. She never managed to, but during the day she would run around her father’s shop, pretending to be running after the beast.

She hadn’t been left with such a strong feeling after a dream since. Until now.

The dream she’d had the night before didn’t leave her with a hunger for adventure, but a hunger for something else. There was an ache, deep and unfulfilled inside her, weighed down by a tiredness that called her to go back to bed and slip into that unusual world again.

It had seemed so real. She’d been able to _ feel _Mr. Gold moving between her legs. Even after waking up, Belle could clearly remember his hands running up her thighs, his lips on her neck, and his… 

But it _ wasn’t _ real. She needed to put that dream aside and stop wondering what it would actually be like to spend the night with Mr. Gold.

* * *

The persistent rain continued, keeping her in the shelter of the library. No one but Gold had visited her so far, and it gave Belle a chance to do some much needed sorting. She busied herself in the library, trying to distract herself with organising the old books and making a list of new ones she should order. It would have been the perfect distraction -- books had a habit of sucking her into their worlds and making her forget her troubles in the real one -- but Mr. Gold’s shop was just across the street. She could see it every time her attention drifted to the tall library windows.

It was ridiculous. Logically, Belle knew it was a dream and that Gold had nothing to do with it. She knew that, she did, but it hadn’t stopped her from searching his name in the library’s database. It wasn’t any of her business what books he’d checked out while she was in Boston, but her curiosity always got the better of her.

His name popped up at the top of the screen.

_ Alastor Gold_.

His basic details and a list of the books he’d taken out followed. She didn’t recognise most of the titles; _ An Essay on the Material and Spiritual Universe_, _ The Imp of the Perverse_, and several sorts of factual books and encyclopedias.

Belle clicked the first book in the list, and the screen went black.

“What the--” 

She sat back, staring at her reflection in the blank monitor.

It couldn’t have been the power. Even with the wind whistling outside, something told her that the problem with the computer wasn’t electrical. She glanced at Gold -- Alastor’s -- shop again, partly out of habit at that point, and saw that his lights were still on.

_ Definitely not a power outage, then. _

Turning the monitor off and on did nothing to fix the problem, and she soon gave up. She stood, hoping there was nothing seriously wrong with the computer -- the library’s budget couldn’t stretch to a new one just yet -- and tried to find a distraction to take her mind off Mr. Gold.

It was as she was collecting a stack of books that needed to be reshelved that she found her next distraction.

Struggling with the weight of the books in her arms, Belle carried them to one of the back shelves, and heard a tapping. She frowned and set the books down on a reading table. Her first thought was that maybe it was the wind blowing leaves into one of the windows. But she stopped and listened, realising it sounded like the clunking of metal.

Belle looked around, following the sound until it led her to the broken elevator. Was it suddenly working again? She pressed the button to call the elevator to the ground floor.

Nothing happened.

She pressed it again and the clinking resumed, louder than before.

After hearing the footsteps in the clock tower, Belle had convinced herself it had only been the old mechanics of the clock ticking away. Everything in the library building was old. It was easy to shrug off some odd sounds when she reminded herself of that. Old buildings always made odd sounds.

But as the thing in the elevator clicked, and Belle stood and listened, it sounded more like something moving around than the cables moving the lift from floor to floor.

She pressed the button for a third time and the tapping stopped. If it hadn’t been for the wind and heavy rain outside, the library would have been silent.

It had to be her imagination, she told herself. The dreams were part of her overactive imagination and so was this. She had a lot of work to do and hadn’t been getting enough sleep, that was all. It would take time for her to settle in and she was letting the stories of what had happened to the old library get to her.

The elevator whirred. Belle jumped back and a voice whispered in her ear..

“_He’s here_.”

Something big and solid tumbled down the stairs leading from her flat. It _ thumped _ against each step, and it suddenly didn’t matter about the wind or rain.

Belle ran outside.

* * *

Mr. Gold’s shop was always open, no matter the weather. He couldn’t risk missing out on someone being desperate to make a deal with him, or that someone might just want to buy the chipped tea set he’d been trying to sell for years. That was another thing about him that hadn’t changed, and something Belle was thankful for, but what _ had _changed was the man standing behind Gold’s counter.

Belle stopped in the doorway, her heart still pounding as she sought shelter from the rain and her library.

Jefferson didn’t look at all out of place amongst the antiques, not with his cravat and a top hat on the stool behind him, but she was still surprised to find him there. He’d always been a bit of an eccentric, and that was at least something _ not _ related to Gold that was the same.

“Belle,” Jefferson greeted with a warm smile. “Come in, come in.”

He beckoned her into the shop with a mad wave of his hand that was hard to ignore. Dripping puddles on the floor, she walked up to the counter and peeled off her cardigan. It didn’t make her any drier -- the rain had seeped into her dress, making it a dark shade of blue -- and her hair clung to her shoulders.

“Did you forget your umbrella?” Jefferson asked, offering to take her cardigan. “Or a coat?”

Belle wrinkled her nose at him playfully, and tried in vain to dry her hands on her wet dress.

Even after two years apart, she was still used to his boundless energy.

“I left in a hurry,” she said.

Jefferson only nodded, a serious and thoughtful look on his face, and looked at the front window. Rain ran against it in a heavy sheet, obscuring the street outside.

“So, I take it you’re not here to peruse the first editions.”

“No. I was…” She paused. She could hardly tell him she was trying to escape the library. “I was actually looking for Mr. Gold,” she decided.

“Oh, well. He’s a bit busy, I’m afraid. You should have called ahead.” He pinched her cardigan between his thumbs and forefingers, and draped it over the back of a chair. “It might have saved this poor thing.”

“It’s important,” Belle said. “It couldn’t wait.”

Jefferson glanced at the curtain that separated the back room from the shop, then leaned over the counter. Belle leaned in closer, ready to hear whatever was really going on, but Jefferson didn’t give much away.

“He’s changed,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” she whispered and straightened up, frowning. “He’s the only thing about this place that _ hasn’t _changed.”

“Have I changed?” he asked, putting a hand to his chest.

“You’re working here, aren’t you?”

Jefferson smiled and dropped his hand. “He’s changed,” he repeated. “You’ll see. He rarely collects rent anymore, he sends either me or Dove. And when we found out about that poor librarian, Gold refused to enter the library or the flat. He left it up to me to make sure everything was clean and redecorated.”

“_You _ chose my new furniture?”

“Out of a selection suggested to me by Gold,” he admitted.

Belle laughed. “So you didn’t quite do _ everything_.”

Jefferson shook his head. “At one time, Gold would have done everything himself.”

He was right. Gold was particular, and very much the sort of man that knew what he wanted. No one could do a job as well as he could do it himself.

“When did he start to change?” she asked.

Jefferson frowned, as if the thought had never occurred to him. Gold had just changed one day and that was that. There couldn’t have been anything he knew of, anything memorable, that had marked this sudden change.

“After you left,” he said. “He wanted to do some big renovation of the library. To turn the whole building into two or three apartments.”

“Which clearly never happened,” Belle finished.

“No. He stopped it suddenly, cleared out the builders, let the librarian return with her books, and...” Jefferson shrugged. “Here we are. That was a year or two ago.”

Belle pressed her lips together and glanced at the curtain. Had he heard noises in the library, too? Maybe he’d changed his mind after being chased out by whatever caused the sounds.

“Is he here?” she asked.

Jefferson hesitated, and that was all the answer she needed. She couldn’t say why -- it wasn’t her place to worry about a man that she couldn’t call a friend with any certainty -- but she did, and she walked to the curtain before she could stop to second-guess herself.

“He won’t like to be disturbed,” Jefferson said, hurrying across to stop her.

“Then I will be told to leave,” Belle said, pushing the curtain aside. “But I want to see him first.”

She found him at a workbench with papers strewn across it, busy working away at _ something_. He sketched furiously, waited a moment or two to stare at the image, then scrunched it up and threw it to join the other balls of paper on the floor. Mr. Gold wasn’t usually so messy.

Belle watched him for almost a minute before he realised he was no longer alone. She liked the way he frowned when he concentrated.

He looked up, lowering his pencil, and straightened in his seat. She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, aware of what a wet mess she must have looked, but he didn’t seem to notice. He watched her as she toyed with her hair, pulling it over her shoulder and running her fingers through it, before he said anything.

“Miss French,” he greeted calmly. It was a calmness that didn’t match the frustration she’d watched a moment ago.

Belle looked over the mess on his desk again. She couldn’t see much writing on the pages, it looked more like he’d been drawing. There was a book open on the table, propped up by a long wooden box. It was a similar dark wood and shape to the music box she’d found in her flat. The librarian must have bought it from Gold.

Her overactive imagination told her that it was for protection. She’d disturbed the box in the library and now _ something _ was inside. Did Mr. Gold need protecting from the same thing?

Standing, Gold grabbed his cane and walked towards her, putting himself between her and the desk. He was wearing gloves again, but they were the kind she suspected he wore when dealing with cleaning chemicals or varnishes.

“Jefferson told me not to come in,” she admitted, still playing with her hair. “But I…” _ I wanted to escape the thing in the library. _ “I wanted to see how you are.”

He frowned, but he didn’t seem to be displeased or angry, just confused.

“I’m well enough. You needn’t have troubled yourself.” He was curt but he didn’t ask her to leave, and Belle took the opportunity to walk a little further into the room.

Seeing him in the light of day was a shock she hadn’t planned for. Here, in his shop, he was real. He wasn’t a phantom that had slipped into her bed in her dreams. He was a real, solid man, watching her with dark eyes and clever fingers gripping his cane.

She assumed they were clever, anyway, like they had been in her dream. If he had a touch careful enough to mend watches, then he must be good with his hands.

Blushing, Belle turned away from him and surveyed the room. It wasn’t like her to have thoughts like that, especially when there were so many other things around her to be curious about. There were old clocks and a spinning wheel and a… bed. It obviously wasn’t for sale, the sheets were rumpled where someone had sat in it, or possibly even slept in it.

She moved forward, wondering if Gold would let her take a seat, but a pressure slipped around her waist; like arms snaking around her and holding her close. She didn’t look down. She didn’t want to know if they really were his arms or her imagination.

Belle tried to stay still, even as her breath caught in her chest. She wouldn’t move. She’d jumped the last time this had happened, but now she wanted to see how far it would go.

A hand brushed through her hair.

“Will you join me on the bed?” his voice asked. 

She shivered and couldn’t take it anymore. She turned, but Gold was across the room, standing by his desk and watching her.

“Was there something you needed, dear? Only I’m quite busy.”

A part of her knew that it was ridiculous to bother Gold simply because she’d dreamt about him. That wasn’t his fault. He had no idea that Belle had had a crush on him, before she’d left for Boston. She thought it would have faded over time, but clearly it hadn’t. It had turned into something more. To him, her visit wouldn’t make any sense. She was the daughter of one of his tenants. They used to talk frequently, but they hadn't seen each other in two years. What would he think of her now?

“Is there a problem with the flat?” he asked.

_ Yes_, she wanted to say. If she was honest with him, he may admit that he knew all about whatever was in there, and that he’d used the boxes to try and protect the both of them.

Taking a deep breath, Belle nodded and decided to be reckless.

“We should sit and talk,” she said carefully, holding his gaze. “Will you join me on the bed?”

His eyes widened, and he glanced to the bed behind her, gripping his cane even tighter than before. When he looked back at her, something in his dark eyes had changed. He almost looked at her the way he had in her dream, heated and hungry, but he didn’t act on it like she wished he would; like the ache inside her wished he would.

“Why did you come back to Storybrooke?” he asked. “I thought you wanted to see the world.”

Belle smiled and stepped closer. It must have been her imagination.

“You remembered.”

“I remember all of our talks,” he admitted, never taking his eyes from her as she crossed the room to stand with him. “Before you left to follow your dream.”

She snorted. “I never made it as far as Boston. I got a job at a library and--” She shrugged. “That was at least one dream I followed.”

To her surprise, Gold closed the remaining gap between them. He didn’t push himself into her personal space, but she could feel a heat radiating from him that made her want to lean closer. All he had to do was raise his hand from his cane, and he could touch her.

“Are there any other dreams you want to follow?” he asked, low and almost a murmur.

Belle swallowed and licked her lips, but something in him changed before she could answer. He stepped back and turned away from her, so she could only see his profile, and his heat was gone.

“You should have stayed away.”

She shook her head. If he remembered talking to her in her father’s little shop, when he was only there to collect rent, it must have meant something to him. Gold was an observant man with a clever mind, but she doubted even he could remember conversations two years later. There had to have been some significance for him, like there was for her.

“Do you think it was a mistake coming back?” Belle asked.

Without a word, Gold turned away from her and went to the back door. For a moment she thought he might leave, or tell her to leave, but instead he picked something up from under the old coat stand.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her. It was an umbrella; _ his _ umbrella. She accepted it gingerly, nibbling her lip as she felt the weight of it. It was much larger and heavier than any umbrella Belle would have chosen for herself, and the ornate golden handle would be a clear indicator to anyone who it belonged to.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. It was so long that she had to lift it up to keep it off the floor, and she felt silly holding such a great thing when she was already wet.

He frowned. “Where’s your coat?”

Belle’s blush deepened, and she wasn’t sure he’d believe it was the cold making her cheeks flush red.

“I didn’t bring one.”

With a deepening frown, Gold reached for the coat rack and held it up in both hands. Accepting his umbrella was one thing, but seeing him offering her his overcoat made her stomach flutter.

Propping his umbrella against the desk, Belle turned her back on him and let him slip the oversized coat up her arms. It wasn’t warm, he mustn’t have worn it for a while, but his musky cologne filled her senses as she wrapped it around her.

If the golden umbrella handle wasn’t enough to give away who she’d borrowed these things from, Belle was certain that his scent lingering on her would give her away.

“What about you?” she asked, turning to him.

He adjusted his hand on his cane and shrugged a shoulder. “I plan on staying late.”

“But it’ll still be raining later,” she reasoned, beginning to shrug off his coat. “I can’t take this.”

Gold stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. Belle held her breath as he pulled it back up and ran his hand over the front buttons. The overcoat completely engulfed her -- her hands were hidden in the sleeves, and the square shoulders were too broad for her -- but the way he looked at her made her feel like she wore nothing at all.

“Take it,” he insisted, his voice lower than before. “I won’t be needing it tonight.”

After that, Gold wouldn’t look at her, and she soon took the hint and said goodbye. Jefferson looked far too pleased when she left the back room with Mr. Gold’s overcoat and umbrella, and sent her away with a smile and a wink.

When Belle returned to the library, her room smelled of roses.

* * *

Sleep came easily to her that night, and so did her dreams.

She was awoken again by the music box; the tune tinkling softly from on top of her dresser. She hadn’t moved it from the sitting room, but dreams stopped her from seeing that logic. They made her accept that the music box was there, and that Mr. Gold was there with it.

He smiled when she looked from the box to him, and held up another rose. “Will you have it?”

Belle, smiling back, sat up and reached for the flower. He moved toward her, a shadow slipping through the darkness, and his eyes flashed gold in the candlelight. But he smiled at her, showing a wide mouth of pointed teeth, and Belle didn’t notice anything strange about him.

She took the rose and put it on the bedside table. It wasn’t the flower that she wanted.

“Will you join me on the bed?” she asked.

The same surprise crossed his face that she saw in is shop, but she didn’t remember that. This was a dream, and in her dream they were already lovers. His shock faded quickly as he cupped her cheek with warm hands and kissed her with firm lips.

Kissing him back came naturally. Pulling him down onto the bed, on top of her, came naturally. She didn’t question why or how he was in her room, or how their silken pyjamas disappeared, leaving them bare. Belle relished the feel of his skin on hers as much as she enjoyed the cool, soft touch of silk.

His tongue flicked out, licking her lips, and Belle ran her fingers through his hair. She held him close, opening her legs for him as he kissed down her cheek and nipped at her neck.

Logic didn’t matter when he could make her feel like that.

Gold kissed lower down her body and his nails scratched up her thighs. They were surprisingly long, but the sharp sting of his grip had her arching beneath him. He lifted her legs over his shoulders, and Belle looked down as his face settled between them.

“You should send me away,” he said, hot breath fanning across her flushed skin. “Stop letting me in.”


	3. The Sleeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Maplesyrup for beta'ing and being so encouraging, and thank you everyone who commented on the last chapter! Things are about to get even weirder.

After the second night, whenever Gold appeared in her dreams, Belle turned him away. He always listened, and he always left.

Every night, he brought her a rose and a smile, but the last dream had been too vivid. She clearly remembered, even in her sleep, the way he’d looked at her when he’d told her to start sending him away. There had been both determination and desperation in his eyes, and something inhuman. She hadn’t realised until waking up that his eyes hadn’t been the real Mr. Gold’s eyes. They were devoid of any colour or detail, save for a flash of gold when the light caught them from just the right angle. He had no pupils; no whites or irises. Just black and gold. His nails had been clawed and his skin… His skin had shifted from the warm, smooth skin of a man, to rough hide.

Every night after that, Belle noticed the difference. It was the final push she needed to admit that something wasn’t right, and that she should send him away.

No matter how much she really wanted him, she had to remind herself that he wasn’t Mr. Gold.

Despite the nightly visits from the spectre with Gold’s face, Mr. Gold himself had yet to set foot in the library. It had been open for two days now. Many other residents had visited to look around, but not Gold. She could see him whenever she glanced out of the library windows, moving around in that dark little shop of his.

He must have been trying to avoid whatever was lurking inside. Belle wished she could do the same, but it was as impossible to avoid the ghostly footsteps and odd bangs as it was to avoid her dreams of Gold.

Only a handful of people had entered the library that day. They hadn’t taken anything out and she suspected they were only using the library as a place to shelter until the rain died down. It hadn’t so far, and one of the townsfolk hadn’t left the library for some time. Belle could hear them in the back, moving around and flicking through books.

The heavy rain kept most people away, but it also brought people in. Jefferson strolled through the double doors, shook out his umbrella before they closed, and came straight to her desk.

“Are you enjoying the weather?” he asked with a bright smile.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she answered, smiling back. “Is Gold’s shop as quiet as the library?”

“Quieter, I’d say.” Jefferson propped his umbrella against the desk and leaned against it. “There’s only my charm drawing people in these days,” he continued. “And I’ve seen people coming and going from across the street. Gold’s hasn’t seen a customer all day.”

“So you needed the company,” Belle teased, setting aside the book she’d been reading to pass the time.

Jefferson hesitated, a look of deliberation on his face as he glanced between her and the window.

“That,” he said with a slight nod, “and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?”

“About Gold,” he added.

“Is he alright?”

“Yes-- Well… No. Not really, no.” He leaned over the desk, towering over where Belle sat and making her crane her neck, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you ever meet Ms. Potts?”

Belle stilled.

“Why?” she asked. “Has Mr. Gold said something about her?”

Belle used to visit the library all the time, but she hadn’t really _ known _ Ms. Potts. She’d been a nice woman, quiet unless you mentioned a favourite book of hers, and always seemed to be drinking tea. Belle didn’t really know anything about her, other than how she’d died and that she was still in the library. She shuddered and tried not to look at the stairs that led to her flat. The library’s lift still didn’t work, and Belle wished it did. She would rather take that to get to her flat and avoid using the stairs altogether.

Jefferson only shook his head, unaware of her unease.

“She changed after Gold reopened the place,” he said.

Belle glanced towards the back of the library, where the visitor was still shuffling around, and spoke in a whisper. “You said Mr. Gold had changed, too.”

“He did!” Jefferson insisted, both hands pressed against the desk. “Just… in a different way. Ms. Potts was,” he waved a hand as he searched for the word, “erratic. She opened and closed the library at odd times. She wouldn’t let Gold… She had this book. A little green book she used to always be writing in. You haven’t, by any chance, found it?”

Belle bit her lip. _ She had. _ The music box she’d found it with had somehow protected the library before she’d discovered them.

“Gold said the flat was cleared out by her grandson,” she said carefully. “Everything was replaced. By _ you_.”

“I know, but--” He heaved a sigh and glanced again at the windows. Rain beat against them, blurring the outside world behind a sheet of water. It was almost as if he was keeping watch for Gold himself, but he wouldn’t be able to see much from inside the library.

“Something’s _ really _ wrong with him. He’s even worse now than he used to be. I’d hoped, if I found that book, that I’d know what was going on.”

She perked up. The ghost had to be haunting him, too.

“You think the answer’s in that notebook?” she asked.

“I hope it is.”

Belle looked to the window, and even through the pouring rain, she was certain the blinds of his shop were open. She could see the shop’s light and almost feel Gold watching the library through the rain.

A shiver ran through her and she looked away. “What sort of answer are you hoping for?”

Jefferson drummed his fingers on her desk, still watching Gold’s shop, and then looked at her with a new burst of energy.

“Have you noticed anything… _ strange _ around him?” 

Belle swallowed. “Strange?”

“Nothing sinister, but a presence,” he explained, leaning forward. “Strange noises. Footsteps, doors opening and closing. Strange _ feelings_. Dreams. Anything like--”

“Dreams?”

Jefferson drew back, realising he’d said too much, and glanced to the back of the library. Whatever he’d almost given away, he didn’t want anyone else to overhear. If the red flush in his cheeks was anything to go by, there were certain things he didn’t want Belle to hear, either.

When the person in the stacks only continued to move around, Jefferson puffed out a sigh and smiled at her. Belle smiled back, shaking her head.

"Does Mr. Gold know you're here?" she asked.

He shrugged carelessly. "More than likely, but he won’t know why."

Standing, Belle came out from behind her desk.

“You should go back.” She snapped the library’s blinds shut and felt a weight lift. He couldn’t watch her anymore. “I’m gonna close the library early.”

“Oh. Really?” He sounded disappointed.

“No one else is going to come in this weather,” Belle sighed, turning from the window and the water pounding against it. “You should tell Gold that. Maybe then he’ll relax a little.”

Jefferson smiled at that, but he didn’t look convinced. He said goodbye without his usual flare, not even a bow, before he grabbed his umbrella and ventured out into the rain.

Behind her, hidden in the stacks, the other visitor started to pace. They probably didn’t want to be out in the rain any more than she or Jefferson did, but Belle could hardly lock them in.

“I’m closing the library early,” she called out, walking towards the back aisles. “I’m afraid you’ll have to--”

There was no one there.

She frowned and looked down the next aisle. A row of books had been pushed onto the floor. Some of them lay open, others had been bent at odd angles. She wanted to pick them up and check the damage done to the spines, but the footsteps had moved to the front desk. 

Belle only stayed long enough to lock the front doors and turn off the lights. Then she hurried to the stairs, stepping over the cracked tile at the bottom.

She tried not to think about the old librarian.

* * *

Taking the notebook and music box from their hiding place in her bedroom floor, Belle dusted them off and sat on the bed.

The temptation to open the music box and listen to it, to see if it was the same as in her dreams, pulled at her as she set it on her bedside table. She pushed it away and turned on her radio instead. It buzzed and crackled, and took a few seconds to find a station, but soon the room was filled with Storybrooke’s local radio station. The song playing, an upbeat song about nicer weather, was just loud enough to compete with the rain outside.

Belle sat back on the bed and opened the notebook.

After the first page about the library reopening, were more pages full of headlines and short articles about Gold and the mayor.

_ RUMORED ROMANCE. October 29th. _

_ GOLD AND MAYOR DISAGREE OVER LIBRARY. January 31st. _

_ MAYOR SUFFERS HEART ATTACK. February 14th. _

“This doesn’t make sense,” Belle muttered to herself.

Why would the librarian care so much about Gold and Cora? The rumours made Belle herself feel uneasy. She barely knew Cora, but she knew the woman had been nothing like Gold. She was cunning and selfish, and while most of Storybrooke would argue that Gold was just the same, Belle knew him to be completely different behind closed doors. Her stomach turned as she read over those particular articles, linking him to another woman.

_ Why did Ms. Potts keep these stories? Did she like Gold, too? _

Another page had more clippings, but as Belle flicked through the notebook, she found pages full of scrawling notes instead. She recognised the writing as the librarian’s, but it was messy, as if she’d been in a hurry to get her thoughts down onto paper. It was difficult to make out a lot of what had been written, and the ink was smudged in places, but Belle squinted and held the pages close. She recognised Gold’s name, and Cora’s, and only one line was written in clear, printed letters.

_ Don’t Let Him In. _

The rest was scribbled in a hurried and smudged hand, but Belle tried to continue reading.

_ A nightmare… induced by him… seduced by him… repelled by iron. _

_ Turn him away. _

Then, on the final page and written in large letters, was the single word that was the key to everything that had been happening to her.

With shaking hands, she pushed the book aside and got up. She turned down the radio and went to the window, where she could see Mr. Gold’s shop across the street.

Street lights had begun to flicker on. The rain still fell hard, highlighted by the white light as it fell and ran down the street. Gold’s shop front was dark, but she still had a feeling he was in there. She hadn’t seen him leave or heard his car. No cars had driven by in some time.

Belle gripped the window sill.

She wasn’t sure what to make of what she’d read. The articles and scribbled notes were obsessive, almost paranoid ramblings. It didn’t make any sense for Mr. Gold to be… _ that_.

But then, it did. In an odd way, everything that Gold had said and done made sense when she read over the notebook.

Then there were her dreams. The odd imaginings whenever she was around him that he was touching her, purring in her ear, made sense if she could believe what the librarian had written.

Belle grabbed the music box and set it down on her dresser, where it always sat in her dreams, and opened it up. It played its strange tune, the one she still hadn’t been able to place, that conflicted with the cheery music playing on the radio.

She couldn’t find the lump of iron that had been inside, but the screwed-up paper that had been wrapped around it was still there.

Taking it out, Belle closed the box and smoothed the paper out against the lid. Drawn in the centre, just as hurriedly as the notes in the book, was an odd symbol made up of lines and circles. There had been a few in the notebook, drawn in the corners of some of the pages, but this one was familiar.

Her heart jumped. She had seen that symbol before, or several versions of it. It was what Gold had been trying to draw when she visited him in the back of his shop.

She looked at the window, but it was impossible to see anything now. It was too dark.

The radio continued to play, barely loud enough to drown out the howling wind now. It crackled and clicked, and another song began to play over the top of the radio host. Belle frowned and turned around. The tune was fuzzy, mixed with static, but it sounded almost like a lullaby.

_ "Go to sleep. Everything is alright." _

It was an old song -- the sort she could imagine being played on a jukebox in the sixties -- but it sounded wrong, like a record that wasn’t playing at the right speed. The man sang softly along to the acoustic strum of a guitar, and the song crackled again. It drifted in and out, but she could hear parts of it clearly.

_ I close my eyes, then I drift away. _

The sound skipped, like a broken record.

_ Then I fall asleep to dreams, my dreams of you. _

Belle’s stomach dropped. She hurried to the radio and switched it off, but it continued to play.

_ In dreams I walk with you_.

_ In dreams I talk to you. _

The radio crackled and growled, and the music slowed down, deepening the singer’s voice.

_ In dreams... you're mine. _

The sound skipped, like a broken record.

_ You’re mine. _

_ You’re mine. _

She unplugged the radio at the wall and the room fell silent. Only the rain filled the quiet as she stuffed the radio into her wardrobe.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, but she’d forced herself to slip into bed and rest. She hoped she was wrong and hoped she was right, and she intended to confront him the next time she saw him.

* * *

It was still dark when she awoke. The music box played, but the rain had stopped. A figure stood by the window, outlined by the moonlight shining in, and he turned when she sat up.

“I thought you might visit the library,” she said.

“Don’t I always?”

She couldn’t see his face until he stepped forward and moved into the candlelight. He had the smile and ease of a lover, with a knowing confidence in his black eyes. They flashed gold in the light as he moved.

“Not during the day,” Belle answered, pushing back the excited flutter in her stomach. She was here to ask him questions. Nothing more.

Gold nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He stroked her cheek and she couldn’t help herself. His touch was so warm. She leaned into it and let him brush his thumb across her lips.

“Will you let me in now?” he asked.

Belle lifted her chin and held his gaze. This was the moment she’d hoped for.

“No,” she said, and his hand froze on her cheek. “This is only a dream, isn’t it?”

His silence was answer enough. Belle got out of bed, brushing passed him, and reached for the notebook. He didn’t try to stop her as she flipped through it. If anything, he seemed both intrigued and impressed that she’d worked out everything was only in her head.

She found the page she wanted, at the very back of the book, and showed it to him.

Gold looked down, and the only indication she had that he understood was a stiff nod.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and looked over her shoulder. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

“You should have blocked me from the library,” he said. “If you knew.”

A tremor ran through her. It was a shiver of something, not relief or fear, but Gold caught it and his eyes locked onto hers again. He had looked almost human, his old self, until that moment. He'd seen something in her reaction, and whatever it was, the demon in him liked it.

“I didn't know until today,” she said quietly. 

“And you still decided to sleep?”

“I can’t _ not _ sleep,” she reasoned. “I had to hear the truth from you myself.”

Gold tapped the handle of his cane and nodded, accepting her answer. “I see.”

Belle’s hands toyed with the front of her nightgown, drawing his eye. He didn’t seem willing to offer her anything else, but she took his silence as a good thing. At least he wasn’t leaving, and the… _ he _ wasn’t angry about being caught.

Biting her lip, Belle glanced around the room. It seemed so obvious that none of it was real now that she knew the truth. The whole room was off somehow. The candelabra by her bed wasn’t there in the waking world. The thin drapes, which were normally heavy curtains, fluttered slightly in a cold breeze. It was all wrong, but it had somehow felt right when she’d first woken to the dream and found Gold there.

She looked back to him and shook her head.

"Why me?"

"Desire," Gold answered simply. "The thing it needs most."

Belle waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. He only tapped his fingers on his cane and avoided looking at her, until she couldn't wait any longer.

"Whose desire?" she pressed, but that was all the answer he was willing to give. He didn’t answer again. Belle sighed.

“Ms. Potts is still here,” she said, trying to fill the silence.

Gold frowned and looked at her. He didn’t seem surprised, but he certainly wasn’t pleased by the news, either. He didn’t say anything, and Belle took a deep breath.

“Did she fall down the stairs?”

His hand tightened over his cane. “That’s what they think.”

She didn’t want to push him for any more than that. Deep down, Belle knew the truth. She knew that whatever he was now, Ms. Potts had found out and tried to stop him. And now she was dead. Belle couldn’t even bring herself to say what he was. It sounded too ridiculous. He looked at her with a hard stare, daring her to say the word, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Saying the word would make it too real.

Gold must have sensed that she wasn’t ready to say it. He sighed and glanced around the room, deliberating on something, and came to his decision when his eyes swept over the music box. The lid fell shut with a loud crack, cutting off the music.

“Wake up and come to my shop,” he said, already making his way to the door. She wondered what would be on the other side. It was only a dream, after all. “I have something to show you.”

“Wait.” Belle reached for his arm, and he paused. It was as if he couldn’t move when she was touching him.

“Alastor.” He sucked in a breath when she whispered his name and ran her hand up to his chest. “Was it always a dream?”

Gold gave her a sad smile, and his fingers fluttered at his side as if he wanted to reach for her in return. But he didn’t.

“What else would it have been?”


	4. The Waking Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's commented so far, and to Maplesyrup for beta'ing!

The rain of the last few days had lessened and become a damp mist. The cold night seeped into her skin as she ran across the street to Gold’s shop. He wasn’t there to greet her, but the door was unlocked and she let herself in.

The shop itself was darker than the street, without the moon or streetlights to light her way.

“Mr. Gold?” she called out.

There was no reply.

Belle felt her way along one of the display cases, leaving wet fingerprints on the polished glass. It would annoy him in the morning, when he saw the marks she’d left behind.

“Mr. Gold?”

She found her way to the curtain at the back of the shop, and paused. He still hadn’t answered. It gave her a moment to grip the heavy velvet curtain and take a deep breath. _ This is it_. This was the moment she finally found out what had been happening to her.

She hesitated, and almost turned back, but Belle was nothing if not curious. Her curiosity stopped her from turning around.

Light flooded the front of the shop as she lifted the curtain, and she saw movement in the shadows at the far end of the back room.

_ This is it_. He’d seen her now and there really was no turning back. She stepped forward and dropped the curtain.

“You’re still calling me Mr. Gold,” he said. Belle couldn’t tell if it was a question or not.

It was strange, seeing him in the dark in the same way she saw him in her dreams. She almost expected his eyes to glint gold when they caught the lamplight, or to see a flash of sharp teeth.

It was odd to see only a regular man.

“What else should I call you?” Belle asked, hoping he’d know she was only teasing him, as she walked further into the room.

He moved forward to meet her. His steps were careful, almost calculated, and even with his cane he moved towards her smoothly, like something prowling out of the darkness.

He was only wearing his shirt and trousers. His sleeves were rolled, revealing his forearms, but he still wore gloves. The rest of his suit was missing, and Belle tried her best not to stare. It was silly. She’d seen him in far less in her dreams, but seeing him in so little in the real world brought a warmth to her stomach.

“You used my name in your dream,” Gold said.

Her cheeks flushed and he smiled.

“Did I?” she asked, and screwed up her nose in thought. She hadn’t meant to say it. It had simply slipped out when she’d been trying to get his attention.

Humming thoughtfully, he stepped even closer, until he was just close enough to touch her. He lifted his hand, as if to cup her cheek, and stopped.

“You did,” he said quietly.

“I...” Licking her lips, Belle glanced around the room; to all of the things in need of repair. “You wanted to show me something?”

Gold dropped his hand.

“Yes,” he said resolutely, straightening his back. He was likely as nervous to reveal the truth as she was to hear it.

His cane tapped on the floor, and Belle watched him as he left her and rounded his desk. He pulled off his leather gloves, and even in the low light, Belle caught the flash of a red mark on one of his hands. She leaned forward, trying to get a better look, but he reached for a box on his desk.

The box was one she’d noticed before. It was long, and made of a wood so dark it looked almost black. It matched the music box she’d found hidden in the library floorboards.

Gold watched her patiently, waiting for her to begin.

“I expect you have a lot of questions,” he prompted when Belle only continued to look between him and the box.

She nodded, but her mind had gone blank. She’d read so much that night, and learned so much that should have been impossible, but now that she was faced with the truth she couldn’t decide how far she wanted to go.

He waved a hand to her -- the one free of a mark -- beckoning her closer to the desk. The move woke something in her and all of her questions came flooding back. She stepped forward eagerly, almost excitedly, but he didn’t open the box. He lifted an eyebrow at her, and waited.

Tugging nervously, excitedly, at the ties on her coat, Belle made herself say the word she couldn’t say before.

“You’re a demon?” she asked quietly.

Gold frowned, so she tried again.

“An incubus?” she corrected.

With a resigned nod, he pulled the box closer to himself. There was something about it that made Belle want to tell him not to open it. It gave off a faint pulse, like a wave of heat, that felt all _ wrong_.

But, as with everything, Belle’s curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to see what was inside.

“I am,” he said matter-of-factly, as if she’d just asked him if he was a landlord or a Scotsman.

“And… Ms. Potts knew,” Belle added.

“It would appear so. I knew she suspected something,” he admitted, reaching for a small key in his breast pocket. “It was probably my sudden interest in books on demonology. She read those same books and found a way to keep me from the library.” He paused, frowning at the box. “With Cora’s help.”

“But why would the mayor help her?” Belle asked, shaking her head. “She didn’t care about the library, so...” She frowned. “She wanted to hurt you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up, but she wasn’t sure if it was out of annoyance or if he found her curiosity amusing.

“She certainly had enough reasons to want to try.”

“What reasons?”

Gold raised an eyebrow, teasing her, like the answer should be obvious.

“You know what I am. So did she,” he said pointedly, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “How did you find out?”

Belle’s stomach flipped. A prick of jealousy poked at her, wanting to press him for more, but he twisted the key in the box and something felt _ wrong_. He lifted the lid and whatever pulse was coming from inside grew stronger.

She leaned forward, her hands flat on his desk, to try and see over the lid. Gold smiled and lifted something metallic; a knife.

It was the oddest looking knife she’d ever seen. It had a strange, waving blade and a heavy, black handle. He held it up, rested it in both of his palms, and waited for Belle’s reaction.

The dagger called to her, pulled at her, and reached for something that was already there; deep inside her.

“A knife?” she asked, frowning.

“I found it. In the clock tower,” he explained, and turned the dagger over from hand-to-hand, as if he couldn’t feel the darkness pulsing from it. Belle took a step back. He didn’t notice. “It gave me this burn.”

Gold flexed his right hand, showing off and stretching the scar running across his palm. It looked like a burn. The skin was raised and smooth and had a sheen to it, but it looked like a much older injury than something he’d only received a year ago.

Belle shook her head. “Why would that… What does this have to do with the dreams?”

“Ms. Potts called me an incubus,” he said calmly, twirling the blade in his hand. He looked so at ease with it; holding that thing and turning it over, watching the lamplight reflecting off the silver blade. 

“She was right,” Gold continued. “And she was wrong.” He set the dagger down on the desk and slid it across to her, handle-first.

The pulsing still came from it, a constant wave of heat warming her body, but Belle wanted to reach for it. She wanted to pick it up and feel what Gold felt. What made him look at it the way he did? What made him hide it and keep it and protect it, if it only caused him harm?

The curse of her curious mind.

“What do you mean?” she asked, making herself look at him and not the dagger.

“The creature in this dagger fused itself to me. Branded me. I am both myself,” he smiled, “and not.”

Mr. Gold’s smiles had always been dark, but this one held the leer of a demon behind it. A warmth built low in her stomach, and all at once she wanted to retreat from him and run to him.

“The burn means you’re an incubus.”

Gold nodded.

Looking at the dagger, Belle wondered if he could feel the darkness radiating from it. She wondered if it had drawn him in the same way it was trying to lure her in.

Had he been called to the dagger, or had he simply been as curious to touch the dagger as she was?

She clenched her fists at her sides and looked at him.

“And the dreams.” Belle hesitated. “The demon sent them?”

“Yes. And so did I.”

Despite that dark hunger still burning in his eyes, Belle found herself returning the sly smile he gave her.

“You did?” she asked hopefully.

His smile flickered. He seemed disappointed by her eager response. It was as if he’d hoped to scare her away, not intrigue her further.

“It’s a compulsion,” Gold said. “I need to… _ It _ drains whoever I’m with. It needs their energy.”

“Like a vampire,” Belle suggested.

“A little. It knows my own desires, and it feeds on them. I learned to control it, but I--” He shook his head and waved a hopeless hand at her. “I couldn’t with you.”

“Your own desires?”

Carefully, so as not to scare the demon in front of her, Belle stepped towards him. He only nodded his answer, then stayed quiet. He seemed to be waiting to see what she would do, and his sharp eyes -- although no longer black -- watched her intently.

“You wanted me,” she said, stopping in front of him. She was so close now that she could smell the spice of his cologne. It reached her when he moved, and washed over her in the same way as the pulse coming from his dagger. The pulse was dark and consuming. It filled her senses with nothing but him.

Then, as with every time she’d been alone with him since her return, Belle felt it. A weight, like arms winding around her, pressed against her waist. She kept her eyes on Gold, but he didn’t move. She had no indication that he knew what was happening, before she heard its voice in her ear.

“He wants you,” it hissed. Her eyes fluttered shut as his breath tickled her neck. “Will you have him?

Belle shook her head, dislodging the phantom arms around her. Gold moved backwards, bumping into his desk, and she looked at him.

“You want me,” she repeated. “And the demon acted on it.”

Gold nodded, and she stepped forward again, wrapping her arms around his middle. “Then it’s a good thing I want you, too.”

She kissed him. It started as a soft touching of both their lips, but Gold sucked in a breath and something in him changed. His arms looped around her and pulled her flush against him. Belle let herself be held tight, using her slight weight to pin him against his desk. She opened her mouth to him, sighing happily. But he pulled away.

“Belle?”

Lifting herself onto the tips of her toes, Belle brushed her nose against his. She could already feel that familiar ache between her legs. She thought he must feel the same. A shiver went through him, his hands trembled where they gripped the back of her coat, and she couldn’t tell if it was the demon’s excitement or his nerves.

“I want it to be real,” she whispered, ghosting her lips over his. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter to go! I'll be posting it (hopefully) on the 31st.


	5. The Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain! Thank you MapleSyrup for beta'ing this whole thing and everyone who’s commented this month. 🎃

At some point in their kissing, Gold had lifted her onto the desk.

Belle smiled against his lips and pulled at the belt of her coat. He’d tried to hold her close, but she leaned back and his kisses fell to her neck. She sighed at the feeling of his warm lips just under her jaw, and tugged the belt open. Her hands shook so much she thought she’d never get her coat off, but the buttons popped open easily and she shrugged it off onto his desk.

Gold pulled back when his hands met soft skin and silk. Her nightgown. She’d been in such a hurry to see him, she hadn’t given herself time to dress after waking up. 

He smiled, smoothing his hands up her bare legs, under the lace trim of the green nightie. It was a deep forest green, so dark it was almost black but for where the lamplight caught it. The glimpses of green highlighted her curves, and Gold drank in the sight of her before he returned to their kissing.

Belle’s heart pounded dizzyingly fast. He dragged kisses down over shoulder and pulled her to the edge of the desk. She reached for the front of his shirt, but only managed to undo the top few buttons before he leaned away from her nimble fingers. She wanted to protest, and tried to, but the whine of frustration turned into a gasp when she realised what he was doing.

Using his cane, Gold settled on his knees between her legs and put them over his shoulders. Her eyes fluttered closed as his hair tickled the inside of her thighs, but Gold had other ideas. He kissed her thigh, drew the tip of his nose across her tingling skin, and bit her. It was only a light bite, barely enough to hurt or leave a mark, but it was enough to make a point.

She was his.

“Look at me,” he said.

She looked, and her breath caught at the sight of him; hair tousled and knelt between her legs.

“You’re awake now,” he said gruffly. “Keep your eyes open.”

Belle pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” he muttered, rewarding her with another kiss to her thigh. “Good girl.”

He looked up at her one last time, from where he’d bunched her nightgown up around her hips. She fleetingly thought that she should feel more exposed. He may have visited her in her dreams, but this was _ real, _ and yet she didn’t feel anything but excitement and curiosity for what they were about to do.

Gold gave her a lopsided smirk, as if he could somehow read her mind. Then he lowered those same lips and kissed the inside of her thighs. Belle sighed as each kiss sent a pleasant tingle through her.

“You’re not the only one who’s dreamt of this,” he said, teasing his fingers between her folds.

Belle could think of nothing to do but nod. That seemed to be enough for Gold, who flicked his tongue up the line he’d drawn with his fingers. Her head fell back with a sigh.

“I always wondered if you’d taste as sweet as you do in those dreams.”

He started slow; teasing at her with only the tips of his fingers and the occasional lap of his tongue, before he slipped a finger into her slickness and pressed his mouth to her mound.

His fingers were just as clever as that silver tongue of his. With a few skilled strokes and flicks of his tongue, it didn’t take long before he built up a coil low in her stomach. The curious part of her idly wondered if being a demon made him so skilled. The other part of her brain couldn’t think at all. All she could do was cup the back of his head and moan when he did something she particularly liked.

Like that thing he did with his tongue. Gold sucked at her folds and flicked his tongue around her clit.

“_Oh God_...” Belle whispered. He chuckled, and she could just imagine him saying ‘_not quite.’ _

She struggled to stay sitting upright when he slid another finger inside her, adding to the sensations he was building up. She had to grip the edge of the desk tighter and tighter, and twisted her fingers in his hair.

It must have been painful for him, but the only reaction she got for her hair pulling was a deep growl. That added to what she was feeling.

Arching her back, Belle keened, trying to find the words to tell him what she needed. 

“_Yes_. Yes, please--!”

Her body grew tense, the coil inside her twisting tighter and tighter, until it sprang free and a wave of bliss ran through.

Gold held her tight, the fingers and nails of his free hand digging into her thigh as she came against his face. She didn’t realise that he was panting too, until she opened her eyes and saw him watching her. His eyes were hungry, and when he stood, pushing her legs further apart with his body, the light shifted oddly across them. They turned black, like dark ink bleeding across the surface, and flashed gold.

He put his hands on her hips, and something sharp scratched over her sensitive skin. She looked down, already knowing what she’d find, and saw the same claws she had noticed in her dreams. They were dark and jagged, and she didn’t mind them digging into her as he held her close.

She was _ his_.

Licking her lips, she pulled him closer and tried to unbutton his shirt. He let her, to her surprise, and shrugged it off when she was done.

Belle tried to take in as much of him as she could. His skin was more tanned than her own. He looked almost golden in the warm light of the lamp. But that was all she could see before he kissed her and pressed their bodies together. She had just enough room to unbutton the front of his trousers, and soon the only thing between them was the silk of her nightie.

Gold ran the tips of his nails up her stomach, tickling her through the silk, and drew a line between her breasts.

“Belle,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

His thumb ran across her lower lip, and Belle turned her head. She pressed a kiss to his palm, where the burn lay. It was warm, and a faint tingle like a burst of electricity crackled across her lips.

“Sweet Belle.”

She looked up, to the demon and man pressed against her, and bit her lip. His eyes unblinking and pupil-less, never left her. They were hungry, but she wouldn’t be scared away. She reached up and stroked his cheek, and he turned his face into her palm, mirroring the kiss she’d left on his own.

“Gold...”

“Use my name,” he said, his voice just hard enough to be commanding. He leaned down, dotting kisses across her cheek. “Like you did in your dream. Use it now.”

She could barely remember that dream anymore. Everything happening in that moment was so strong and overwhelming and _ real_. But she nodded, breathing heavily, and kissed just below his ear.

“Alastor,” she whispered, smiling when he let out a ragged breath against her neck. “Please, Alastor.”

Wrapping her arms around his middle, she pulled his hips against her and felt the press of his stiff cock between her legs. She smiled against his shoulder and rolled her hips against his.

“Please,” she said again, deliberately moaning the word in his ear.

He lifted her off the desk as if she weighed nothing, and dropped her onto the camp bed at the back of the room. Excitement shot through her as she bounced on the mattress. She smiled victoriously, pulling her nightie over her head without a hint of shame. Belle had no reason to feel ashamed in front of him.

In the time before she’d left Storybrooke, she’d often wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would he fluster and be embarrassed? Or would he kiss her back and take control? The reality of kissing him was much nicer than any of the kisses she’d imagined or dreamt of.

Gold knelt over her as she lay back, settling her head on his pillow. His chest heaved and he put his hands on her knees to push them apart. Belle let him; opening her legs as he lowered himself over her and kissed her again. He wasn’t quite the same Alastor Gold she’d once fantasised about. There was something dark in him now, fuelling the hunger that burned in his dark eyes, and the way he gripped her and dug his claws into her skin.

“Please,” she said again, pulling back from his kiss.

He nipped at her lip and smiled. “Turn around.”

He leaned away, and a heat rose through her as she turned, knowing that he was watching her. She put herself on her hands and knees, facing the head of the bed and the back door. A door which had a window. It was too late at night for anyone to walk by, but the thought that someone _ might _ catch them gave her a little thrill.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Gold asked.

The bed shifted with his weight behind her, and Belle had to fight the urge to turn around and look at him. She liked the anticipation of not knowing what he was going to do. It was so different from the dreams; so much better.

“Yes,” she answered readily, nodding. “Yes, I’m sure.”

A warm hand ran down the curve of her behind and Belle bit her lip, waiting impatiently.

“Please,” she said before she could stop herself, digging her fingers into the bed covers. “I need… I need this.”

“This?”

“_More_.”

“More?” he growled, pleased with himself. “More _ what_?”

Words escaped her as quickly as when he’d been using his tongue on her. He pressed up against her, teasing the head of his cock between her folds, and she struggled between answering and keeping her breathing even.

“Just more,” she said. “More of you.”

“Mm-- Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

She almost laughed at his teasing, but he thrust forward and knocked the breath from her. Gold stayed still for a moment, buried deep inside her, and the wait was almost painful. She was so desperate for him to start moving, that she couldn’t help the loud moan that escape her when he finally did.

Reaching forward, Gold tugged on her hair and stopped her head from falling forward. He kept her up on her hands, with her head back, as he thrust into her faster.

Belle’s breath came out in hurried, desperate puffs. She tried to savour the prick of his nails biting into her hip, and the sharp tugging of his other hand in her hair. It almost drove her mad when he released her hair, and she saw the claws on his hand as it curled around her shoulder.

“So long. Belle,” Gold groaned. “I wanted you for so long.”

He pulled her up off her hands and wrapped his arm around her front. The new angle changed the way he slid into her. Belle hummed and reached up to put her hand in his hair.

“I wanted you,” she returned, trying to tilt her head just enough to see his face. But he wouldn’t let her. He buried his face in her hair and neck, and tried to distract her with his hands on her breasts. “_Alastor._”

Stroking her hand through his hair didn’t coax him to look at her, nor did her other hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze her breast. It was only when she rocked her hips back to meet him, making herself moan, that Gold lifted his head to look at her.

“I wanted you,” she repeated in a whisper.

“Even now?” he asked. His clever fingers circled her clitoris, scratching her with his nails, and Belle arched her back.

“Yes!” she gasped, and refused to look away from him.

His face was different, now that all signs of him not being human were there. The shimmer of scales, the empty eyes, the sharp teeth. It should have scared her, but it didn’t. Belle took one look at the demon behind her, fucking her and using his hand to draw her climax closer, and came undone.

Throwing back her head onto his shoulder, Belle cried out and shuddered against him. That was all Gold needed to follow her over the edge. He filled her with his seed, and Belle had only one fleeting thought, that she shouldn’t have let him in, before they collapsed on the bed.

She was his.

Breathless and spent, his weight pressed her into the mattress, and Belle sighed happily. She still had her hand in his hair, and she played with the tangled strands as he struggled to regain control.

A tiredness washed over her. Her mind and limbs felt heavy, beckoning her to sleep, but she kept holding on to Gold until he shifted his weight onto the bed beside her. It was only a narrow bed, meant for one person to sleep in. The small space kept them close together, with Gold pressed against her side. Belle turned to him and smiled.

He smiled back.

“I was so good at restraining the demon. Until you came back,” he said, stroking his hand up her arm. He was so warm, and even now, his touch sent a pleasant tingle through her. Belle closed her eyes and leaned into him.

“You tempted me,” Gold continued, drawing the tip of his nose against her forehead. “My own little succubus.”

Belle laughed sleepily and nudged his shoulder.

“If only,” she teased. “I wouldn’t be so tired.”

His smile fell and he brushed her hair from her face.

“I drained you,” he realised, cursing under his breath as if he should have known that would happen. _ She _ should have known. He had warned her that the demon used sex to drain a person’s energy, but she couldn’t bring herself to care; not when she felt so satisfied.

Gold left the bed for a moment and Belle immediately felt cold. She lifted her head to watch him, but he returned to her before she could see what he was doing.

He slipped back into bed beside her and put something in her hand.

“Join me,” he whispered, pulling her to him. “Be like me.” 

Belle’s fingers curled around cold leather, held in place under Gold’s strong grip. She looked up at him, meeting his imploring eyes with her tired ones. He looked human again.

“You want to see the world,” Gold said. “I can show it to you. We could leave Storybrooke together this time.”

She felt herself smiling before his words had fully sunk in. He wanted to leave with her. Two years ago, she’d left Storybrooke thinking she would never see him again. She’d never dreamt that Gold would like her in return.

“How?” she asked.

Raising their joined hands, Gold showed her what she held. It sat heavily in her palm, a warm pulse rippling up her arm.

_ The dagger. _

“I can be yours, if you accept.”

She was his, and he was hers.

He kissed her cheek, pleading with her to accept, but Belle was already nodding. If nothing else, even if she didn’t feel so strongly for him, curiosity had always been her weakness.

“Will you join me, Belle?”

“Yes,” she whispered as sleep claimed her.

* * *

When Belle awoke in the late hours of the morning, she was different. She lay still, wondering why the world felt so strange, with Gold’s arms around her waist and a burn on her hand.


End file.
